


The Blood of the Fallen

by skatingonthinice



Category: Tintenwelt-Trilogie | Inkheart Trilogy - Cornelia Funke
Genre: Bad Parenting, Found families are the best, Gen, Meggie is Kind, Nonbinary Character, Post-Canon, Redemption, Soulmate friendship bond between mo/dustfinger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingonthinice/pseuds/skatingonthinice
Summary: Many years have passed since the Adderhead's death. Ombra is tending to its wounds and its people flowering once again. The names of old villains goes forgotten by the children, but there are some that still remembers. There are some sins that are not yet forgotten.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the non-binary pronoun They/Them

The years had passed by so quietly, it seemed the whole world had grown peaceful. She was getting pampered by this stillness, she knew that. It couldn't persist forever even with the protection from the Good Violante. Yet, hadn't she had enough sorrow in her life to last her a life time? 

Roxane looked at the small field extending from her house walls and was content. The sun was slowly setting on her crops, and the air was crisp and clear. Autumn was approaching, but it would not come by her little home for another month or so. There was plenty of time left to do all the work that had to be done before the earth grew hard and the days short. Much of it would be tiresome for her old back.

Luckily for her she would have help. She had not gotten used to the large structure of support that came into the world along with her dead husband and she wondered if she ever would. How strange it had felt to have all these people to love after all the solemn years alone on her farm with too much work and too little food. Now she hardly had to ask for company to get it- Resa and her family visited almost every day.

Speaking of the devil!

By the hill leading up to her farm stood a familiar figure. The distance blurred the woman, yet the long, blonde hair and the colourful attire could only belong to Roxane's best friend or her daughter. The two were so alike Roxane often had trouble telling them apart at a distance. Not that she would admit it.

The woman waived eagerly and started ascending the slope. _Ah, so it's Meggie,_ Roxane thought and smiled. She turned her back to the visitor to put on some soup and maybe find a peace of bread to share. Shortly afterwards the doors creaked and a smiling Meggie entered. The slight chill of the morning had put colour in her cheeks and made her seems even more vibrant than usual. Ever since she had given birth her demanaur had changed to be more confident. She had her real mother to help her of course, but Roxane appreciated that she also came to her for advice. Roxane, after all, had lived in this world a whole lot longer than Resa. Maybe it was for advice she had decided to come by now.

Roxane did not bother to rush it out of the young girl, knowing Meggie eventually would tell her herself. She simply handed her guest a piece of bread, some butter and together they waited for the soup to warm up.

"The men are still out, I reckon?" Meggie asked. 

Roxane nodded. She looked at the door leading to the bedroom where she had slept alone for a fortnight. "Yes," she said. "They will probably come back before the first snow. As long as Dustfinger is with them they will be fine. Jehan, I'm sure, is still ecstatic about getting to leave this small place. There are places bigger than Ombra and after my husband made the mistake of filling my son's head with tales, he should have known there would be no end to the nagging unless they went traveling. Maybe they'll find some real magical place at the end of the rainbow. Who knows?"

She got up to pour the food, but something stopped her dead in her tracks. 

There was a face in the window. If she had been in the processing of pouring soup now she certainly would have lost it in shock.

It did not seem human at first. In fact, for a second she thought it must be some vengeful spirit coming to haunt her. Its skin was pitch black, but with smudges of a lighter tone spread across the face. Soon she realised the smudges were not smudges, but skin and that the black was soot and dirt. The thick layer of it blurred the facial features to where it seemed the whole face was a dreadful mask. It did not help that the eyes were dark as well- not entirely black, but a kind of soulless brown. Their expression was intense and unyielding, and looking directly at Roxane.

Meggie turned to see what Roxane was looking at and almost fell out of her chair. There were many creatures of the dark in this otherworld and maybe she thought this was one of them. But just then it blinked and opened its mouth to speak, and Meggie's terrified face softened. 

"Oh, it must be a miner!" she exclaimed. "Or a wood burner," she added, puzzled. The person could not be tall, judging by the height of the window. 

Without uttering a word or asking for permission Meggie jumped up to walk the few feet to the door. For a moment she blocked the view, but then she stepped aside with a peculiar look in her face and Roxane could finally lay her eyes upon the odd visitor.

They reached as high as Meggie's collarbone and though it was hard to tell for all the dirt they seemed gaunt with long weary limbs and a small frame. The hair was of an indiscernable colour and slicked back. The clothes that normally would identify the community a person belonged to were too worn and stained to tell. Roxane thought she could see the contour of a too- large vest and a shirt underneath, but the details were covered in grime. Whoever they were they wore trousers. 

"Is this the residence of Roxane, wife of the fire- eater Dustfinger?" they spoke. It was the voice of a child. _So it was no spirit this time, _Roxane reflected. The situation disturbed her, but she hid it well.

"It is. What might I help you with?"

The child stared straight at her and did not say another word. Roxane stared back. 

Finally they spoke again.

"I've heard of you. You are a witch. I hear you can make the moon swell and bring the dead back to life."

Roxane shook her head. "No mortal can bring the dead back to life. You have no business here."

Meggie looked troubled by the harshness of the words. Before she could muster a protest Roxane silenced her with a stare. _Do you not see?_ she thought. _How can you have forgotten? _The resemblance was there, hidden under filth, but there nonetheless. Roxane felt like she had awoken to find a snake in her booths.

"We have business, alright," the child revolted, not at all taken aback by the rejection. "I have come a long way to speak to you. For a long time this land was covered with civil blood. There were too many vile misdeeds done in the name of righteousness. I have come to correct them."

Out from under their shirt the child pulled a dagger.

The women were quick to react to the shining metal and suddenly they were both in defense positions with Meggie protectively in front of the elder. Some instincts were hard to unlearn.

"Get out!" Meggie shouted, but lowered her guard a little when she saw what the intruder did next. They offered the dagger with head bowed and arms extended, as it if were some sort of sacrifice. Meggie struggled to make meaning of it, but Roxane only had to look at the dagger for a minute to determine that her gut feeling had been right.

It was an exquisite thing, measuring as long as the child's forearm. The handle was beautiful and white, as smooth as a newborn's skin. The blade was no less impressive, with edges sharpened to cut the air. Roxane had been poor enough to know what was expensive and this was it. And yet the child was giving it to her. Roxane refused it.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded to know.

"He gave it to me on my eight nameday. It was the only thing he ever gave me- the Dog. He told me I should learn to use it to get my way. He told me the world is a bad place and the people worse still. He told also me about you."

"So you are unfortunate enough to be Basta's offspring. Did you come here to avenge your father?"

The child put the dagger back, meanwhile staining the ivory handle with their messy hands. 

"Your Dustfinger murdered my father. He slaughtered him like an animal. But I know the Dog was one of the bad men he himself spoke of. I did not come here to shed more blood. He did too much of that."

"Wait," Meggie interrupted, "-are you really Basta's child?"

The child looked at her and answered flatly in a tone that they seemed to have answered their entire life. "I am his bastard."

"What does your mother think of you coming to me then?" Roxane asked, only to get silence in return. "Did you think I would bring him back with my supposed witchcraft?"

Finally some emotion crept into the child's cold eyes and they watered. Roxane almost felt bad. Almost.

"No, I... No, I know he never loved me. I know he murdered a child, like me. I came to apologise. Look, I brought a gift."

From a hidden pocket they produced a small bag about the size of a fist. It filled the room with an exotic smell of spices and unknown herbs. The child handed it over to Meggie as she stood closest. Meggie studied the bag with a curious face but did not open it. Instead, she handed it over to Roxane, who was beginning to feel like this had to be a dream. _It cannot be-_

"Where did you find this? If this is what I think it is-"

"Yes, it is. One teaspoon of that can cure any illness. Two will grow a limb out. The whole bag will save someone lying on their death bed. You could dilute it out to help many or you could save a loved one when The White Ladies come running."

Roxane clasped onto the bag as if it were made of gold. Her thoughts turned to her family, the ones she had known forever and the ones that had been read into it by magical forces. Maybe she could protect them for once, especially the men that were always so keen on running off to fight. Jehan and Farid, and Meggie too- always too eager to help even when the odds were against them. She could protect them with this. _If I had this when our children were young, maybe I wouldn't have lost Rosanna. _A stab of guilt hit her. She was quick to let it go. 

She looked up to find the others starring at her, and she quickly dried a tear.   
"I must ask again- where did you find this?"

The child twitched nervously. "I travelled far. It did not come free of cost. Actually I worked for a family of wood burners on my way here to afford some food. I have also swept the streets and searches in the courtyard for scraps. They did not like that..."

Roxane smiled of the thought of Violante Her Kindliness finding this cub within her castle walls. She was kind, but not that kind.

"Do you have a name, little one?"

The child blinked, as it had forgotten it had one. "The Dog called me small one."

"And your mother," Meggie asked. 

The child pondered for a minute as if deciding if it was safe to tell them. But Meggie's voice was sweet and her smile was caring. Maybe the child was not used to the friendliness, because they stuttered. 

"I am Giorgia. Just Giorgia."

"Welcome, Giorgia," Meggia said. "Come sit with us. We were just about to break fast."


	2. Chapter 2

Half a year he had been away. How much could possibly change in that amount of time? Originally, not a lot he had thought, but now his home felt like a stranger's. He loved Roxane, but how could he trust her from now on after having taken in such a snake? Just listen, she had told him, and because he loved and respected his wife he had, but he did not believe it. 

When they had sneaked out he had simply followed, as light as a feather on the crisp autumn ground, not making a single noise as he walked. It was no trouble for him, and yet he was surprised to discover that the child wasn't so bad themselves. Quiet as a mouse they went, in and out of shadows, careful not to step on any fallen leaves. Queer habits for someone atoned.

After a small walk the two of them came by a small grove of trees growing behind an abandoned hut. In there they went and in a clearing there the child took up a sizable knife from their tunic. How it had fitted in there Dustfinger was unable to tell. After all, it had no sheath. Its cold blade shone in the moonlight.

Dustfinger watched from the shadows as Giorgia began dancing around with the knife and, as lightly as it was a toy, began throwing it up in the air to catch it as it landed, making sure to take it by the hilt. Round and round they went with movements as gracious as a fairies'. Now and then they would face in the direction of the hidden Dustfinger and he would see their young face illuminated by the moon above. It was a sharp angular face with a defined jaw and a small, concentrated mouth. The eyes seemed like dark pools without emotions and Dustfinger was sure he has seen eyes of that kind before. They had sneered at him as Basta had carved his love into Dustfinger's skin, those dark eyes just a few inches from his own as he had screamed and Basta had laughed. 

He wondered if this child had assulted anyone, maybe even killed someone. He followed their moves around the clearing, trying to read into them the same hostility their father had once had when he lived. Such long, slim limbs, the like of somebody that had known hunger and bad times. Dustfinger tried to but couldn't see the viciousness he longed for to validate his prejudice. 

So what, he scolded himself. Murderers can be swift. Murderers can be young. Maybe they also could be children. 

For a long while he stood unmoving, trying to decide on a course of action. In that moment he missed Mortimer and his fast yet humane wit. Mortimer would have known when to make use of his bias and when to overcome it. Poor Dustfinger though. His strength had never been hearts and their emotions. 

Time, however, was running out. Giorgia collected their knife and carefully placed it back from whence it had come. In a moment Dustfinger stepped forward onto their path, his figure now visible. He felt his heart flutter, as if the child would suddenly transform and Dustfinger's old enemy would be there to try and end his life again. But there was just a child and the child stared at him, their eyes now wide.

I did it, Mortimer, Dustfinger thought. I did it, not for the bravery's part, but for my family. Roxane, Jehan, and Meggie who was sleeping over, they needed him. He felt magic flames soar within, warming his scared soul and giving him strength to do the unthinkable if it came to that. He prayed it would not.

"You are Dustfinger," Giorgia said. Their voice was low and full of awe. That made him really uncertain. 

"I am," he replied, not seeing the point in lying if this person really was who they said they were- and how could they not be? When he stared at Giorgia he was staring at the youngling Basta had once conceivably been before his master had darkened his heart. 

"You murdered my father."

"I did not. A close friend of mine did," Dustfinger replied. He was getting ready for something terrible to happen. In his experience they always did. But Giorgia just raised their shouldered and gestured.

"Why should I care? It makes no difference to me which one of you who did it. He is gone. Roxane said she couldn't bring him back."

His consciousness was coming down as hard on him as a thunder- and lightning storm to the crops, but he could not yield to it. Fire was emerging from his hands, slowly but surely, and soon covering his palms. Giorgia looked at him with an increasing worry and then outright fright. They took just a few shaky steps backwards, almost getting their feet tangled in some tree roots. 

"You are going to kill me, aren't you? Mother said you would. She said I was a fool to think otherwise!"

The accusation stung and stopped Dustfinger in his tracks. He looked at the flames covering him. It was not right. He knew that. He never wanted to hurt anybody, he just wanted his family safe and how could they be with this bad spirit roaming around? With their gloomy look and knife wielding they were like a relic from a past best not only forgotten, but buried. 

But a small one? His mind accused him. Not even that man's child. 

In a moment he had decided. His flames redacted leaving him vulnerable. 

"I am not letting you infest my family with your plans or instructions, whichever it is. The man is dead and you should leave it at that. Be careful not to follow in his footsteps. I am kind today but there are others that would not give you this pity. Run. Go!

Giorgia backed away, yet did not run. They were holding their arms up to shield themselves and their voice was shrill and disturbed. It was not very much unlike the sound his own children had made when they were despairing. He tried not to notice.

"Please, I have no instructions. He never cared for me that way, I only saw him a few times. Please- I just want somewhere to be! I am not like the Dog, I won't hurt anybody. Please!"

Dustfinger waved them off as if he could command the wind too, command it to carry away this embodiment of bad memories. 

"Leave!" he hissed, almost wanting to cry. "Do you think I will let you sleep in the same house as my family? My son? My wife? Leave now, just go!"

There was still fear in Giorgia's eyes, but they straightened up their back all the same. The resilience reminded him of Brianna the second after she had decided not to listen to whatever advice or command she had been given. 

"I can sleep outside. I can help grow herbs and seeds. I can help you with the goose and the chickens. My mother used to make me do every sort of chore before she let me go."

"Then you can go back the same way you came," Dustfinger interrupted. 

Giorgia got a little braver and stood a little taller by the second. "You owe me a chance! I will prove I am good enough, I will do triple the amount of work a regular worker does- just let me stay. You had him murdered and my mother went mad when she heard. She won't even look at me anymore, I can never go back. You owe me a chance, you do!"

What a bold little one, he pondered. His soul felt so tired of bloodshed. Even the thought of it made him yearn for Roxane's warm touch and his home. Oh, his sweet wife. She had fostered this rotten urchin for a moon turn and she had come to like it like she did most children. Roxane had not wanted to hear his worries. 'Children only grow up to be evil when they get no love. We will give them love,' she had told Dustfinger when he arrived home. Meggie had been there, looking at him with the same expression she had had when he first showed up at Mortimer's house all those years ago. 

Could his family not see that he was trying to protect them? Dustfinger glanced up at the sky hoping to find a sign. When there came none he sighed loudly. He pushed his hair back behind his ear with a shaking hand.

"Fine, you can stay for the winter. And only for the winter. If I catch you doing anything suspicious again I will send you away," he said. Giorgia's tense shoulder eased a little and the animosity between them shifted from being like a looming dom to a light pressure, uncomfortable still but endurable. 

"You don't like my dancing? I don't know how to protect myself without it. Wielding a knife is kind of like wielding a shield if you do it right. But if you don't like it, I won't do it."

Dustfinger still felt an unease. He wanted Mortimer. He needed him. 

When they started to head back he once again caught a glimt of the sky. It stretched out endlessly like a large black blanket. Some places there were stars as well. 

He wondered if the dead could see the living, not in the way Farid imagined ghosts, no- like people standing above a lake can see the fish swim beneath the surface. He specifically wondered if Basta still existed somewhere and if he was looking down on them now and laughing at Dustfinger's stupid, soft heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive Giorgia's incorrect statement about Dustfinger having murdred Basta, I have tried to straighten it out in this chapter:)


	3. Chapter 3

Mortimer thought of the child with unyielding distrust. The urchin was what Dustfinger called them and he could see why. It was a scrawny thing, stretched thin and firm. There was a layer of dirt concealing and distorting their skin and expression, dirt from the work they did for the animals Roxane kept and from helping the locals with various duties like pipe cleaning, and bringing and delivering small goods. Roxane sent the child running errands for other whenever she herself did not have any duties to offer around her farm, as the work was limited by the cold season. This made the child familiar with the close neighbours and local costums and it also gave them the nickname Duskwing after a small black corvid native to the Inkworld. They did look like some sort of bird, flying about with their stained clothes and black combed back hair- Basta's hair.

But Roxane and Meggie, his own daughter, just called them Giorgia, which was their proper name if the story was true. 

Mo shifted slightly where he stood by Dustfinger's side by the hills leading up to the farm. They exchanged a long look. Mo noted how weary his friend's eyes were. Undoubtedly he hadn't gotten much sleep since he came home. Mo couldn't blame him. Gone were the days the former bookbinder dared to trust openly.

"I reckon you don't trust this," he said. Dustfinger frowned.

"No, of course I don't. Not that they will listen to me. My wife has already as good as taken the child in and Jehan has begun teaching Giorgia his favourite ballads. I feel so alone," he said and looked at Mo with heartache and longing. _Except for you_, it said._ You would never doubt me_.

Mo felt the same way about him, though there was no need to say it out loud. After certain events they knew each others hearts too well to have to speak. More so than anything else speaking was just an old habit. Even so, some things felt easier to live with after having them said out loud. 

"Have you concluded with anything after all your spying?" Mo asked. 

"My conclusions thus far are lacking. As far as I can tell there are no danger signs, still anybody can conceal the truth in this world. It was much harder where you came from with the facebooks and satellites."

Mo recalled memories from what seemed another life time. "Facebook it was called," he corrected his friend.

Dustfinger shrugged. For a minute they stood in silence, thinking.

"But the similarity is striking. Underneath all the dirt they are like a young version of that shithead. The next time Roxane manages to make them bade you will see. They even have his damned knife wielding skills. Seeing them swing a blade around sent shivers down my spine and that is not an easy feat these days. What are we going to do, Mortimer?"

Mo furrowed his brows. " Who knows the truth of this? Who else except for us in the family, I mean."

Dustfinger snorted. "Nobody, I can tell you. The neighbours wouldn't have treated anybody this nice if they knew them to be the bastard of a murderer. One of the old ladies Giorgia is often sent off to help had her son killed by Capricorn. That might be some decades ago, yet people don't forget who killed their loved ones. I don't either."

The expression on his face was one of disgust. Mo felt his pain. It lingered in him too, spoiling his innocence. Nothing had felt the same since he came into the Inkworld, but still- everything he did he did for a good cause. Truth be told this situation didn't sit right with him and yet he couldn't ignore his daughter's pleas or rather, her sad looks when she saw his doubts for Giorgia. She seemed disappointed in him. That was a new experience. 

"I.." he begun but failed to collect his conflicting feelings enough to form a coherent opinion. Suddenly he felt Dustfinger slip his hand into his and squeeze. It felt warm and comforting in the cold winter weather. Mo squeezed back and felt some of his courage revive. He wasn't sure how he had survived the years without that man. Now, the notion of a world without Dustfinger seemed inconceivable. He could always feel Dustfingers presence like a person does sunlight on ones skin or a pulse emanating life. If he had the words he would tell the fire- eater the despair that he felt twisting within him, how he sometimes glimpsed the ghosts of black jackets and tyrants in dark corners and in the night, their eyes as alive as his wife's although, of course, only imaginary. 

Dustfinger looked at him like he was reading his heart. 

"We have our share of trust issues, I think," he said, mockingly and sad at the same time. Mo tilted his head, agreeing. "Still doesn't mean our suspicions aren't right."

"I truly don't know. Our lives are so odd already, would it really be any more odd with that child hanging about?" Dustfinger objected.

He had a point. 

"I will keep monitoring them anyway, of course. They said that they didn't have much contact with Basta, but who is to say this isn't some elaborate plan to murder us both? But in the meantime I am afraid nobody would agree in turning Giorgia away, so monitoring is the only thing left to do. Your soul isn't as dark as you think it is, Silvertongue, so you should stop worrying about the alternatives. And I am too much of a coward. So I say we end the discussion." 

Mo nodded, already feeling a ton lighter. He felt guilty for not having shared the information with his other friends. The Black Prince for one would have liked to know it, yet Mo thought of the looks his daughter had sent him. She, Roxane and Resa were to kind. 

"Let's go up to the farm. They will be having dinner now. You can meet Giorgia and see for yourself," Dustfinger said. Might as well, Mo thought, and together they went up the hill to the little house where candle light shone out of the only window.

Standing outside, they could already hear Jehan's voice. He was insisting rather loudly on something and making Roxane laugh. When they went inside the jokes went quiet, nevertheless there was still a fine mood present. Roxane smiled at her husband. "How good of you to come, and with Mo. Have a seat and I will get you some stew."

The room grew smaller with the added company. Mo and Dustfinger seated themselves at the available seats by the table. Mo looked at the people sitting by yet couldn't find the stranger. It was not before his eyes caught a movement on the floor behind Jehan that he realised Giorgia was there.

They were sitting with their legs crossed over each other, eating from a half empty wooden bowl. How old could they be? Mo couldn't tell for certain, other than that they had to be older than nine or ten. Many of the Inkheart world children didn't even know their exact age themselves. 

In that instant, Giorgia noticed they were being watched and turned their head to meet his gaze. What dark eyes. He searched them for any evil, but Giorgia just looked at him with respectful wonder. Certainly that was not a look their father ever had worn, except for when he admired his awful master. Then they spoke.

"You are the Bluejay. I am glad to finally meet you and see you for myself. I have heard the tales."

Mo felt his eyes narrow. Upon feeling the others weighing him down with their expectations he felt the need to answer. "I am. I have heard tales about you too."

Giorgia blinked, unsure of the connotations of the statement. Seemingly having decided it was bad, their stance became more defensive. "I am not like him. That is not true. I didn't even know him properly. I am going to help, you just see. Jehan and I caught the mad goose after it escaped this morning. Is that not right, Jehan?"

Mo was surprised to see Jehan laugh. "You are the most talented goose chaser I have ever seen, Giorgia. Dustfinger could never compare," he said. 

Dustfinger couldn't conceal a slight smile. "Well, that goose is completely mad, so you can hardly blame me."

The tension eased a little and they begun talking about other things. At the end of the night, Mo still wasn't sure how to feel about it. A part of him was still apprehensive and he could tell the same went for the fire- eater. Still, the more he looked at them, the more Giorgia looked like any other child. As he said good night to Roxane she gave him a retaliatory look. _I told you so, there is nothing to fear_. Mo thought of that the entire walk home. 

After all the business with being the Bluejay, he had become accustomed to deciding for others. Maybe that was not his place now. Maybe, in the end, his part this time was to listen to his family- extended and not. Meggie had a child herself now and would never let any danger come anywhere near her son. If she vouched for Giorgia, he should take take that as proof enough to retire his suspicions. 

It would, of course, still feel exceptionally weird to have the offspring of Basta in his life, but when it boiled down to it this really was a weird, weird world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It probably isn't very canon for Dustfinger to swear, but considering the trauma Basta caused him I think it's fair.  
Thank you so much for reading<33

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Love to hear your thought<33


End file.
